


I decided you look well on me

by defractum (nyargles)



Series: Tumblr Fic & Prompt Fills [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pickpockets, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire may have picked the wrong pocket to pick. </p>
<p>Or, he may have not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I decided you look well on me

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** ExR, Grantaire trying to pickpocket Enjolras and failing.

Grantaire is good at what he does. So when he watches the back of a gorgeous blond man, it’s not  _just_  because he has a fabulous arse.

He sidles up behind him among the throng of weekend shoppers and reaches for the wallet in his back pocket. Easy prey. He’s not quite expecting the  _click_  of handcuffs around his wrists.

Hot guy turns around, flicks a glance over him that’s almost dismissive. “Hmm. You’re quite good. I barely felt a thing.”

Grantaire just stares at the handcuffs. Standard police issue. “Seriously? Fuck’s sake.”

Hot guy holds his hand out for the wallet, and somehow manages to look both imperious and amused. Grantaire drops it in with a scowl, more annoyed at getting caught out than anything else. Seriously, he has a reputation to maintain, and the guy just seems so unimpressed. And now he’s going to get hauled to the police station in cuffs and – Grantaire stares as instead of cuffing his wrists together, the guy snaps the open end of the handcuffs around one of his own wrists.

“What the fuck?”

“Come on,” says Hot Guy, and starts walking. Grantaire swears as they barrel towards tourists, families, and trots to keep up with the guy’s absurdly long and shapely legs, trying not to make it completely obvious that they’re cuffed together.

And, right, Grantaire is good at what he does, but lockpicking when speedwalking and trying to keep it discreet is not something he’s had much practice at. It takes him almost twice as long as usual, and just when he manages to squeeze his hand out, the guy just looks back and grabs him instead, locking long fingers around his wrist.

“Hmmm,” says the guy, and this time the look is thoughtful, almost pleased. “Not bad at all.”

“What the  _actual fuck_ ,” snaps Grantaire, trying to tug his hand away, because seriously he’s just trying to pick a few pockets here, he doesn’t need fucking policemen who won’t even follow proper procedures making fucking judgemental faces at him. Except then the guy is steering them off the main street where there are instantly much fewer people, round the corner and into an almost silent coffeeshop.

"Coffee?” asks the guy. “Two coffees,” he says to the barista without waiting for a reply.

Grantaire waits as their drinks get made, occasionally pulling to see if his grip’s loosened. It hasn’t. The handcuffs clank, still attached to the guy’s wrist like an art nouveau bracelet.

“Grantaire,” says Hot Guy, and Grantaire looks up to see him holding  _his_  wallet and flicking through the ID cards, half of which are forged. How did  _that_  even happen? Grantaire keeps his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket, for fuck’s sake.

“Holy shit,” says Grantaire faintly. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in the business.” Hot Guy smiles at him, flashing dimples, dear god,  _dimples_  and Grantaire is so momentarily blindsided that he lets himself get bustled into a little window table, his coffee plonked in front of him.

The guy clicks the handcuff back over Grantaire’s wrist, and produces two lockpicks from behind his ear. Which, wow, he has a lot of hair and it is very nice hair, but how did Grantaire not notice that?

“I’m not,” says the guy, lips curving up. “I’m in a better class of business.” He pushes the lockpicks over to Grantaire. “Show me again?” His voice is almost sultry, like he’s trying to chat Grantaire up instead of… well, whatever it is they’re doing right now. Grantaire’s _fairly_  certain it’s not foreplay, but then, this guy does apparently just randomly have handcuffs on him.

Grantaire does. Picks the lock in under half a minute.

“Not bad at all,” says the guy. “I’m Enjolras. I’m recruiting.” He suddenly has a business card in his hands, and Grantaire did not see that at all. Like, he  _knows_  how it’s done, he does it himself, but he has  _never_ seen anyone do a sleight of hand with such finesse, fuck. He takes the goddamn business card.

_Les Amis_ , says the card, and Grantaire’s heart skips a beat. He’s been hearing rumours for a few months now of a new band of criminals.

They sign their crimes, like only the most audacious do, and yet they’re still not public knowledge because of exactly  _what_  they do, which is stealing back money and items that other people have stolen. Insurance companies and fertility clinics that scam their customers or private art collectors who just needed that one piece regardless of who already owned it – they’re not going to report that kind of loss to the police.

And so, it has just been whispers in the underbelly of the city, and of all the people Grantaire tried to pickpocket today, he just so happened to pick one of them.

“You’re crazy,” says Grantaire. “You can’t just pick people up off the street, what is wrong with you?”

“I think you’d be a good fit,” says Enjolras.

“What,” says Grantaire. “ _Why?_ ”

"Instinct.” Enjolras shrugs. “You tried to pick the lock. That was your first reaction. You didn’t punch me, or demand the key. You picked the lock.”

He has a point. Grantaire didn’t even think about bodily harm – and wouldn’t. It’s not his style. He knows how to, of course, most career criminals need to know how to defend themselves, but it’s a last resort sort of thing for him.

“Try getting out of this,” says Enjolras, and snaps industrial electronic handcuffs around their wrists.

Grantaire stares at it in horror. “What the  _actual_  fuck?” He tugs at it, gives it a test. This thing seals itself in a thick plastic band across his wrist and the key isn’t even a key, it requires an electronic fob to open. “This can’t be picked.”

“No,” says Enjolras, “but there are other ways out of it.” He licks his lips, and peers at Grantaire from beneath lowered lashes. Grantaire is a little bit terrified, a little bit aroused, and also just a lot confused.

“They’ll take  _forever_ ,” says Grantaire.

Enjolras leans back, and picks up his coffee. “Take your time,” he says, his thumb just brushing over the back of Grantaire’s hand, probably by accident. Probably. “I’ve got all day for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://defractum.tumblr.com/)


End file.
